


Relativity

by Missy



Series: How Green The Grass [2]
Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Childbirth, Columbia - Freeform, Community: polybigbang, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gunshot Wounds, Humor, Multi, Polyfidelity, Secret Baby, Spies & Secret Agents, Travel, Wordcount: 5.000-15.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:05:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of How Green the Grass (http://archiveofourown.org/works/329009), Sam discovers an unexpected connection to an old friend, Fiona prepares to give birth, and Michael tries to hold it all together</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relativity

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to 'How Green the Grass', which I wrote for last year's PolyBigBang. Thank you to Tam for beta and [casper_san](http://ghostgraphics.livejournal.com/23259.html) for her lovely artwork!
> 
> This is obviously firmly AU from season four onward.

The sky had barely turned its distinctive pink-orange morningtime shade when Sam Axe rolled over and pried open one of his amber eyes. A long, slim arm lay draped over his right flank, and a muscular leg had taken possession of his kneecap from behind. His mind registered this as ‘normal’ and he relaxed.

Then a great wave of contentment swept over Sam as he yawned and took another look at his surroundings. It was a good life he was building with the two of them – if a little incomprehensible to everyone around them. He rubbed himself against the lattice of Michael’s belly and got a sleepy grumble in return; Fiona squeezed his midsection to bring about another period of silence, and Michael dozed again. Sam glanced from the light pouring down from the kitchen window to catch a glint of sun gleaming in Fiona’s hair and saw everything.

Sam wondered when they’d have a real bedroom, the one thing he’d decided years ago he’d never willingly live without again after years of sleeping on bare floors and lumpy couches. It couldn’t take much longer; time was getting scarce, the baby nearly ready to be born, yet they were still in a state of flux, and the loft in a state of disarray; large plasterboards lay sprawled upon the ground, with chips and dust scattered about on the concrete floor, and power tools cluttering every free table in sight. The loft was quietly being remodeled during the day so they’d learned to sleep though the constant thump-pish of Sugar’s club’s in full-tilt activity. The sound-proofing they’d managed to cobble together did a good job of protecting the fragile ears that would soon be among them; another layer was set to be put down sometime in the afternoon by one of Sam’s contractor buddies. 

One day soon, the loft would pass for a proper family home – a real bathroom was in the last stages of being tiled at the back of the long main room, and several portions of space had been cordoned off with heavy cement plaques; a bedroom for the three of them, and a nursery. Most of the work left was relegated to interior design, a subject that Fiona had always loved. Sam had generally surrendered to the two of them; Michael, who could have happily lived in a shoebox, had abandoned all responsibility to Fi, and she had happily made the loft look as she pleased on her own money. He had to admit it didn’t look too bad – even if she did fight with them whenever they wanted her to rest, which he still couldn’t get over.

Jesse had, naturally, found all of this an occasion for great hilarity. 

The decision to stay here had been reached through angles, negotiations. Fiona had argued for a house, but nothing Sam’s buddies or her connections found among the sold or ‘gently used’ houses in their file-o-faxes pleased her. Jesse had stepped in at Michael’s request when the infighting grew too ridiculous, but even his government connections pulled up dissatisfying house after dissatisfying house. And so, Fiona declared that they would stay put ‘for now’. With a toss of her head, she added, ‘until he’s ready to go to school.’ Three years away sounded more reasonable than nine months, and Michael breathed his obvious sigh of relief as they settled back in.

Even arguments with Fiona made Sam smile in retrospect. It was a nearly-complete world. It would be totally complete once the baby got there. Until then, they pooled Sam’s pension with Michael’s government salary and what Fiona made off of under-the-table arms sales and organizing bounty hunts, and survived handsomely.

Sam’s eyes drifted closed again. In another hour he’d get up. Just one more hour. 

…Suddenly something cold pressed itself to his chest. “GAH.” He flailed toward consciousness. Michael stood over him with a chilled glass of lemon water held outstretched in his hand. “Nice. What’re you trying to do, gimmie a heart attack?” 

Michael immediately discarded the glass. “It’s nine,” he said, retrieving a ubiquitous cup of blueberry yogurt. Sam could have guessed that by looking out the window, but Michael plopped another mouthful of yogurt down his gullet, then adjusted his sunglasses and added, “We’re meeting Fi and Jesse at Carlitos in four minutes. You need to get up if you want a shower.”

Michael, naturally, was already dressed in a suit, showered, and apparently finishing off the majority of his breakfast. Knowing him as well as he did, Sam sensed he’d picked up the yogurt just to seem as cool and insouciant as possible. “Wait, where’s Fi?”

“She left at eight to go to the range.”

Sam eyed him. “You let her go to the range in her condition? Geez, Mike, your kid’s gonna end up being born with a butt burn on his face!” 

Michael tossed the empty container of yogurt into the trash and stared back at Sam over his sunglasses. “You just used the words ‘Fi’ and ‘let’ in the same sentence.”

Oh yeah. “Good point.” Sam yawned and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Mikey, do you still have that box of leftover lo mein from last night?”

Michael held out a cup of plain yogurt. “It was going green. I’ll warm up the car - get in the shower already.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Back at the Hilton I had towel service. WHOSE turn is it to do laundry again? And what about..”

Michael leaned in and kissed him. For an extended amount of time. When they broke apart, Sam was grinning. “Mind picking up some pineapple yogurt next time?”

The towel that smacked him in the nose as he spoke didn’t even sting.

*** 

They were fashionably late to Carlitos, and Jesse – who was sweating in his brand-new wool suit - looked as uncomfortable as they’d ever seen him. He raised an eyebrow as Sam and Michael approached in tandem. “Everything okay with Fi?”

Michael shoved his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose before picking up and pretending to peruse the menu before him. “She decided to practice with her new long-range rifle.”

Jesse paused, a mouthful of iced coffee poised on the tip of his tongue before he asked, “You let her go to the range, man?”

Sam bit back a laugh, earning him a scolding look from Michael. “Do you guys know Fiona at all?” Michael continued to glare as Sam coughed obnoxiously, suggestively filling in the blank his question made. “Do we have a case or not?” 

“We do,” Jesse said, breaking open his briefcase and digging inside. He drew out a small stack of bills, halved them, and passed them to Mike and Sam. “From the Terri job.”

Sam flipped through the green before stuffing it into his pocket. “It was a damn shame we had to blow the windows and doors out on her compact,” he declared.

“I bet she’s crying into a pile of thousand dollar bills,” Jesse suggested dryly. 

“So where’s the next adventure taking us?” Sam asked sarcastically. “Back to Zanzibar to meet the Zanzibarbarians?” 

“Actually, I think I’ll have the client tell you herself,” Jesse said, smirking as he quickly ducked out of the way of a petite brunette, who whirled around to face them from the opposing direction.

Sam barked out a laugh as he reached for the familiar figure, his arms wrapping around her in a huge bear hug. “Beatriz!”

“SAM!” Their reunion was just as warm as it had been so many months ago. She felt a little plumper against his ribs, and seemed to glow with a new health.

“What’re you doing back in town?” his tone wondered what she had done to get herself in trouble.

She gave him a sylph-like smile, sitting down beside Jesse. “Nothing you’d be mad about,” she insisted.

Sam grimaced. “I know that look, kid. What’s the down-low?”

Beatriz sat herself down without ceremony. With a huge grin, she said, “I’m going to Paris!”

“All right!” Sam smiled back, toasting her with his beer. “They haven’t had a terrorist attack down there in forty years, right?”

Michael gave her a thin smile of his own, lightly kicking Sam under the table.

“Ow! Watch the expensive Italian loafers.” He reached down and rubbed his aching shin.

“You shouldn’t let yourself get so excited,” Michael said. “She’ll be thousands of miles away.”

“Sure, when she goes. But I’ll get to keep a closer eye on you for the moment.” he said, switching his focus back to Beatriz. “God knows it’d be swell if I won’t have to go to your funeral.”

“Don’t get so excited, Sam,” she scolded gently. “I need your help for something,” she added. “There’s a little problem with the plan. The assignment isn’t even official yet.”

“Why is there always a hitch?” Michael complained.

“Well, y’know life’s a hitch and then ya die.” Sam let out a loud, bellowing laugh, and Michael simply raised a silencing eyebrow at him. “Go on.”

Beatriz shrugged. “I don’t have my passport anymore. And since I got this job under my own name, I need something that looks real.”

“Why can’t she…” Jesse started.

“This country still thinks I’m a Russian spy,” Beatriz said, faintly wrinkling her nose.

Sam winced. “And that’s our fault.”

Beatriz nodded. “Double-agents get their passports taken. I had to sneak back to Columbia and then out. You know they revoked my work visa.”

Sam gave her a grim, quick nod. “So you want us to forge you one.”

Beatriz nodded reluctantly.

“Kid, if you get caught with it…” Sam trailed off and shook his head. “It’s gonna mean a hell of a lotta trouble raining down on our heads.”

“You’ll look like a double-dealer and no one will believe your story.” Michael said. “So what you’re going to want is someone to hack into your files...”

Sam nodded. “A clean break-in. We pull your visa, change a couple of letters and numbers, print it out and leave, no marks left behind and no danger of being discovered. Bam – you’re off the no-fly list and end up with a working visa.”

“Easy-peasy,” Sam and Mike said simultaneously. 

She raised an eyebrow at them. “You seem to be getting along…really well.”

Sam smirked against the rim of his glass. “Let’s just say me and Mike and Fi have a new understanding.”

She glanced at Jesse, who held out two supplicating palms. “I’m staying outta that one,” he declared. 

“We’ll talk about it later.” Sam grimaced. “You’re asking me to forge them?”

“I know you can if you need to…” She unrolled a copy of her birth certificate and handed it over, along with a photocopy of her passport ID. “I think it has all the information you need.”

“We’ll get it for you,” Sam said firmly. “Even with half the info.”

Beatriz looked from Michael to Sam. “Are you sure you can help me in two days?”

“We’re on it,” Michael smirked.

*** 

Barry sat hunched over Sam’s ‘borrowed’ laptop while Sam and Michael pored over the file they’d accumulated on Beatriz’ case. 

“How’s it going, Bar?” Sam asked, shuffling around Bea’s Interpol file. 

“Pretttty good…” He tapped a couple more keys. “Russian identikits are being stripped out of Beatriz’ file like Candice Michelle in a bra and panties match.” Both men looked up. “Come on! You guys HAVE to be watching Raw!”

Sam and Michael just shook their heads.

“If they want to see a woman in her underwear,” Fiona declared from the bed, where she sat fanning herself with a portable wind machine, “they can always ask me.”

Barry eyeballed her. “Even when you’re all…” He gestured, and Sam hoped for his sake he planned on leaving it at that, but instead Barry plunged on. “Pear-shaped.” A hairbrush sailed by his ear and he spun toward his monitor. “Okay. So one more button and we should have something printable.”

Sam held out Beatriz’ birth certificate. “Let’s run through this slowly, just to make sure we don’t lie any more than we need to.”

“Got it. Birthdate?”

“Five-five-nineteen eighty five.”

“Right. Blood type?”

“O positive. Huh…”

Barry looked up. “What’s wrong?”

Sam chuckled, scratched his temple. “Just a weird coincidence. I’m o-positive, too.”

“It’s destiny,” Barry observed. “You were meant to be Beatriz’ loyal assistant and guardian in this life.”

Fiona groaned and sank against the bed. “Please don’t start talking about destiny.”

“Destiny got you two perfectly good swords,” Michael pointed out, gesturing toward the bed, over which the blades they had been given five years before still hung.

“That you find impractical!” Fiona replied, dunking the brush into her bottle of polish with veracity.

“Guys, cork it for a second. Place of birth?” Sam said, forgetting his place.

“Bogota, Columbia,” said Barry.

“Name of father,” Sam said. What he saw made him freeze in place.

“…Unknown?” Barry asked, raising an eyebrow, catching Sam’s eye.

“What? Something doesn’t smell right,” Sam said, ducking down to read the screen. “She talked about her dad all the time. He was the most important person in her life.”

“Maybe he was an adopted dad,” Barry suggested. “When did her mom marry this guy?”

“What did you think we did?” Sam wondered. “Do each other’s hair and tell ghost stories in the middle of the jungle?”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Mother’s name?”

“Mother’s name…” He scanned the document. “Mother’s name…Inez.” 

Blood froze in his veins at the sight of that full name. Inez Padraco. 

Jesus. Inez.

A little girl with brown hair and enormous eyes, and a fiery look like her daughter. He closed his eyes and could remember the old army base and its followers, a phalanx of curvy young girls with no means of financial support other than currying the favors of the single marines who filtered in and out of the base at bi-yearly intervals. Her feet were bare in the sand, sinking her down and making her shorter than Sam had been. He had been young, twelve scars and muscle tears ago, a swabby ready to ship back out the next night for Libya. They’d been babies back then, he almost as doe-eyed as Beatriz was. She had been so kind to him, and his mind had been distracted by the haze of pain he’d been in ever since he’d come back from Panama. 

Everything crashed together in Sam’s head, a mess of images and memories and moonlit nights. He’d married Amanda two weeks after he’d shipped home, leaving Inez alone, broken-hearted, and willing to marry the incredibly kind goatherd who had promptly stepped in and saved their lives, then raised her daughter to be a revolutionary firebrand after Inez had been lost so tragically in childbirth. 

In September of 1984, Sam had made love to Inez on the floor of the jungle. 

The facts whirled together in his mind, creating a colorful, lurid picture, promising him the truth.

The only truth.

“Sam?” Michael worried. He was beside him, his hand closing firmly over Sam’s bicep. 

His vision cleared out. “God, Mike,” he said under his breath. “Beatriz is my daughter.”

****

“That’s all well and good, Sam,” Fiona said, staring at the certificate over his shoulder while Sam explained himself. “But if you don’t have concrete evidence, no one’s going to believe what you’ve got to say.”

“So we’ve gotta get evidence,” Sam said. “Maybe she’s my kid, but in case she isn’t, I don’t want to freak her out.” 

“So we’ll have to go about this passively,” Michael declared. “Fiona, how hungry are you today?”

“Starving,” she pouted. “Michael, why are you asking?”

“Because we’re going to send you over there,” Sam said, holding out his phone. “Say you want to talk about shoes or whatever dames talk about. Tell her you wanna get out of the house for the afternoon. Then when she’s not looking pull a bit of hair out.”

Fiona shook her head at both men. “Must I do all of the heavy lifting, boys?”

“Nobody knows how to lift with their knees like you,” Sam teased, kissing the back of her neck.

She rolled her eyes, smiling at Michael before carefully inching herself off the bed and into her shoes, plain black tan sandals. “Flats. Boys, you’d better make this worth it.”

“Have we ever not?” Michael bragged. She deliberately smacked his behind as she sashayed off.

“This’ll be the easy part,” Sam cracked. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket and started dialing up a couple of guys he knew in genetic testing. He wasn’t looking forward to plucking a Q-Tip into his mouth but it was a small price to pay for the truth. “Go eat up.”

*** 

“…Yellow?” Beatriz asked over her cocktail. Fiona was somewhat amazed by the amount of alcohol the girl could put away. Cossacks would envy the girl’s stalwart fortitude. 

“Sam’s idea,” Fiona declared. “He wants to have an insurance policy if it turns out to be a girl.”

Beatriz finished the last gulp of her Scorpion Splash and took another bite of cobb salad. “Didn’t you have an ultrasound?”

“Several,” Fiona said dryly, sarcastically glaring at her stomach before taking a huge bite of her monte cristo sandwich. “The cheeky monkey likes to roll over whenever the doctor tries to see.”

Beatriz eyed Fiona’s stomach. “What’s it like?” she wondered.

“I have heartburn, a boil on my bum, and constant gas. It’s utter, complete paradise,” she declared archly. “If he or she grows up to be a rebel, I’ll ship them to a convent school.” 

“There aren’t any good parts?” Beatriz wondered. 

Fiona paused to consider her words before speaking. “The best part,” she says, “is feeling it move. It’s the most peculiar feeling.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“No,” she said. “It takes my breath away. Literally, if the mite lands on my lungs.”

Beatriz seemed spooked by the very notion. “Sam’s staying with you until the baby’s born?”

“And after. He’s told you, hasn’t he?” This earned her a confused look, and Fiona’s features crumpled into a more innocent mask. “You understand that the three of us are together now?” 

Beatriz’ features hardened. “No. Sam didn’t...” She seemed angry with the idea, and Fiona smoothly shifted gears. “When?”

“It’s been a few months now, we’re just settling in.”

Beatriz’ face showed a new confusion, and she asked after a moment’s pause. “How will the baby be baptized?”

Fiona shrugged. “Michael’s the father.”

“Ohh…”

“It happened before Sam even touched…”

She cringed and supplicated for silence with her free hand. “Okay, I understand.”

Fiona smiled. “Don’t you have a special boy back home?” she wondered. 

That earned Fiona an arch look. Beatriz tossed her head and laughed. “I love the revolution,” she declared. 

“You can love change and a man at the same time.” Fiona had denied the notion of that for years, but now she saw it as gospel truth. 

“It wouldn’t be fair,” Beatriz said. “My true love is justice.” 

Fiona hummed. She seemed to concentrate on the remains of her dinner before looking up, freezing, and then emitting a piercingly sharp scream. 

Beatriz ducked, and Fiona reached for her head. “It’s a WASP. Oh, let me kill it!” Pocketbook tucked in her hand; she smacked Beatriz with its heavy leather face while pulling a hair from her head. 

Beatriz let out a cry of surprised pain while Fi gave her a bland smile and tucked the hair into her fist. “There we go,” she soothed, flicking the ‘wasp’ away – by slight of hand, slipping it into the sterile bag she’d gotten from Sam’s friend. The young girl gave Fiona a sharp glare, but Fi seemed entirely oblivious to the girl’s pain. “Now – how do you feel about dessert?” 

*** 

When she returned home a few minutes later, Sam was wearing a tread on the floor, and Michael was starting at a Ruger .45 he was in the middle of refurbishing. 

“Did you…” Sam began, but she held out the baggie in silent triumph, cutting him off. 

Fiona plodded by him, kicking her shoes off and replacing her sunglasses upon the dresser beside the bed. “Did you ever doubt me, Sammy?”

“Sammy?” he grinned, but grabbed the bag, eyeing it. “Only when there’s something lying around that shouldn’t be blown up. I’m gonna run this down to the mailbox guys!” He rushed out of the room, and Fiona watched him move with undisguised zeal.

“Have you ever seen him more excited?” Fiona asked.

Michael chuckled dryly. “Last night,” he said simply.

She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and eyed Michael with incredulity. “When have you ever noticed what’s around you while you’re making love, Michael?” Fiona wondered.

“I never turn my senses off,” he replied. “Speaking of - did you enjoy your enchilada?” 

Fiona rolled her eyes and lounged against the bed. “I’m worried about him, Michael,” Fi admitted. “He’s getting his hopes up.”

“It sounds pretty likely that Beatriz is his from his story. And they are alike.” Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Kind of alike. They have the same eyes, and the same fire boiling up below the surface.”

“They do. But I’m still not wrong about Sam hoping for too much. She’s someone else’s little girl, and he’ll never be able to get that time back.”

“You never know, Fi. Maybe he won’t end up getting hurt this time.”

Fiona frowned. “I suppose we should be here to hold him up, if anything goes wrong.” She sighed and reached for the bag of tortilla chips Sam had abandoned on the mattress. “I never knew he wanted a family of his own so badly. 

“Sam was a soldier first,” Michael replied. “When he was younger he was too busy spreading his charm around….”

“Is that what we’re calling it nowadays?” Fiona wondered dryly.

“….And then Amanda happened. We both know why they didn’t work out.”

“Why?”

“The same reason we didn’t work out in Ireland.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow and turned in his direction. “I don’t believe that Sam fled Norfolk in the middle of the night on official orders.”

Michael paused, having abandoned his attempt at fiddling with his collar. “It was the service. He was still mentally back in Panama, and Amanda didn’t get it.”

Fiona made a scoffing sound. “The poor girl. But that’s one problem we’ve never had…I’ve always known just what you were thinking, Michael.” 

Michael frowned at her, but Fiona remained serenely horizontal. “Sam and Amanda stopped functioning, so Sam gave up on the relationship. They coasted along for awhile and by the time she got together with Mack the marriage was DOA. So he spent the rest of his time throwing himself into missions, being everybody’s buddy…”

“Or everybody’s lover,” Fiona suggested.

“Which is why everything changed when we had this baby. He saw all of the emotion he’d invested in the two of us flying out the window. He could’ve gone back to Ms Reynolds…”

“I wouldn’t have given that harpy the satisfaction,” Fiona declared. “He wouldn’t be happy without us.”

Michael stared at her, wooden of expression. “You’re excellent for my ego, Fiona.”

“Always.” She patted her stomach. “Planning on passing my love of the truth down to the little snip as well.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “You lie if you need to, Fi.”

“Only when I want something I can’t have. Or I’m covering for you boys.” She pushed herself into a sitting position. “Speaking of the little punter, she’s craving some macaroni and cheddar.” 

“Sam ate the last box this afternoon.” She groaned and Michael sighed. “He stress eats. You knew that when you let him move in.”

“Then we’ll have to go to the market.” She reached for her abandoned purse, which gave her a second to pause and look at the progress the builders had been making to the loft.

The difference was quite impressive. What had once been an emergency flop-house was now something of a home, carefully crafted with her own two hands and the occasional side-order of kitsch from Sam’s always-overstuffed storage shed of ephemera leftover from his many trips overseas. It would be home soon enough, bolstered forever by the heavy and yet tender burden she carried beneath her heart.

“Are you all right?” She huffed at the question. Michael was forever convinced she would keel over at the slightest breeze.

“No, a mosquito flew up my arse. I’m all right, Michael - I was only thinking.”

Setting it out there like that made Michael assume she had been joking. “That’s a dangerous hobby. Don’t take it up.”

“Oh, stop it,” she complained. “It’s that growing up I never thought I’d be much of a mam myself,” she replied, pulling out the old Irish lilt she’d long buried. “But I’m proud to be having one.” She pecked his cheek. “But don’t expect a litter, now.” 

“I don’t think Sam does. So you don’t mind carrying her around when she isn’t giving you heartburn?” Michael replied.

“She,” Fiona said firmly. She’d long suspected the baby roiling her guts was a female, not a boy, but Michael seemed determined to have a boy. “What in God’s name makes you think this is a girl?”

“You’ve got all of the classic symptoms. When my mom was having Nate, she was sick all the time, had swollen feet, and kept screaming at my father for no reason…for once. So, if my deductive skills hold up – and they always do - It’s probably going to be a girl, Fi.”

“I’m the one birthing it,” she replied. “And I know it’s a boy. I hope you didn’t offer Sam something important.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, and then said, “If it’s a girl, you have to give up ceviche for a full year.”

“A year?! Honestly, you’ve been bitten by the gambling bug! And you’re starting to sound like Nate.”

“If you’re sure you won’t lose a cent,” Michael declared, his arrogance infuriating her. 

“Oh, sod off,” she sighed. “I’ll be proud to be having one of either sex. And it’s a nothing ‘til it’s born.”

Michael came to sit beside her, resting his hand on the rounded center of Fi’s belly. “Do you understand what I meant?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose that when you’re face-down in a trench you don’t want to think about responsibility,” she admitted quietly. “Not when you’re already drowning in a puddle of it. We both know how high-pressure the situation can be when you’re part of the life, cause or soldier. But are you sure it’s not just the free time getting to him?”

“It’s definitely not the free time. He LIVES for free time,” replied Michael. “Sam skipped every bit of this when he was in his twenties.”

“So now he wants to reclaim everything he skipped – if Beatriz is aware of it or not.”

“I always knew you were brilliant.”

She tossed her hair. “Finally figured it out, did you? I thought I’d had you convinced back in Dublin when I gutted that merchant Marine with my swiss army knife.”

Michael pulled Fiona into his embrace. “Oh, that was just my first hint. Did I ever tell you you’re beautiful when you blackjack a man unconscious while stealing state secrets out of his briefcase?” 

“Once or twice,” she said, mock-modest.

Michael pecked her forehead. “You are. And you’re one of a kind, Fiona.”

Silence pervaded the room as the door swung open, and Michael and Fiona enjoyed the brief respite. But both of them felt that someone was missing - and that someone entered the room abruptly, the door swinging open hard and quick to reveal Sam’s overjoyed face.

“SO!” he said, his voice overly-bright, rubbing together his hands. “Who wants to have some dinner?”

*** 

“Sam?” 

He started and glanced up from his folded hands. “What was that, Mikey?”

Fiona glanced at Michael, who promptly pasted on a false smile. “It’s time to order.”

Sam cracked a smile. “Sorry, Mike. My mind’s at the post office today.”

“Results finally coming in?” he asked. 

“Yep,” Sam grinned. “Today we find out if I’m daddy to a bouncing baby twenty-year-old.” He chuckled and sipped his beer. “Hope she doesn’t make me teach her how to ride a bike.”

Fiona shook her head. “At least one of you seems happy. Has Beatriz forgiven Barry for blowing her cover yet?”

“Nope. And he’s still got a gash in his wall four feet wide to prove it.” Sam whistled. “Gets her temper from her mother.”

“Right,” Fiona noted pertly. 

Sam’s eyes creased at the corners as he squinted at her. “What?”

“You’ve never ridden up on a curb to escape a bunch of Russian pimps.” 

“That was a life or death situation,” Sam replied. “Their deaths or my life!”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “If this baby ends up with your sense of humor I’ll never forgive you.”

Sam shook his head. “Can’t blame the genes for that one, baby.” 

Michael shrugged. “You know Sam’s right.”

“And I’ll never admit it.” Sealing her words, she took Sam’s face between her hands and gave him a peck on the lips, which quickly mutated into a long, deep, sucking kiss. Fiona’s hands raked through Sam’s hair, and he automatically slid his hand from the back of his own chair toward Fiona, lightly cupping her breast. 

Somehow through the wall of thrumming muscle and wild passion encircling Sam, Michael was shouting loudly enough to be heard. “Guys? GUYS!” Michael shouted, forcing them to break their embrace and earning Michael twin glares. “We’re in public,” he reminded them.

“Spoilsport,” Fiona muttered, in concert with Sam’s “stick in the mud.”

Then there was a soft coughing sound from just over Fiona’s shoulder. Her lightning-quick reflexes resulted in Beatriz being tossed head-over-heels into a backdrop, crushing the table under her minimal weight and startling their fellow diners. 

The dust settled as Beatriz cursed loudly in Spanish, and Sam, Michael and Fiona stared in surprised horror down at Sam’s possible daughter. “Hello, Beatriz. Won’t you join us…” Fiona began, but the young girl shook them both off, helping Sam to fix the table while Michael resettled the glasses and overturned dishes. To her bemusement, Fiona realized the girl had done exactly what she tended to do – completely upset the festivities. Then, without further remark, she busied herself by righting an overturned chair, settling down to have dinner with them.

“How nice to see you,” Fiona said archly, sipping her lemon water with serenity.

Beatriz grumbled. “Sam, you said your friend’s plan would work.” 

Sam scratched his temple. “That’s the problem with plans. Sometimes they’re not fool-proof,” Sam declared. “So…”

“So I’m going to have to give up my job.” She sounding murderous.

“No,” Sam said calmly. “Remember what I told you back in the mountains? Keep calm, keep your head clear.”

Beatriz took a deep breath. “If your friend had used the right kind of paper I’d be tracking gangsters in Moins Plus.”

“It’s like the Stones said, baby,” Sam said. “You can’t always get what you want. But it’s not hopeless until your flight leaves the tarmac.” He nudged her. “Benito, on the steppes.”

Michael and Fiona traded confused glances. “What are you on about, Sam?”

“It’s an old fairytale Sam told me when we were with the Flaming Swords,” Beatriz explained. “There was a shepherd named Benito who lived on a wide, grassy plain. One day, there was a terrible rain, and the fields flooded, ruining the grass and leaving the sheep and Benito’s family to starve alike. His papa knew of the tender, warm grass that grew on the other side of the hill, but it would be a long journey to reach the fields – and Benito might not make it at all. The shepherd had never been to the other side of the mountain, but he cared about his flock so much that he herded them together through rain and snow, over the rocks and hills and to the soft grassy field that grew under the sunlight there. For months, Benito feasted and watched his sheep grow fat, but soon he grew worried about his family. That winter, he gathered up his staff and herded the sheep back up the mountain. 

“The shepherd was so scared,” Sam continued. “A blizzard started when he was halfway up the path. Fog and snow obscured everything, and he struggled to keep his sheep from panicking. How would he ever get home when he couldn’t follow the trail or see the stars to guide him? But even though nothing around him looked familiar, he looked into his heart and found the strength to follow his instincts. As if by magic, he managed to find his way down the mountain and back home to his family.”

“When he arrived, his family was amazed,” continued Beatriz. “How had he survived a blizzard that had ravaged the land?, his father asked. ‘I had faith in my heart’, said Benito. ‘And I knew if I followed it I could accomplish anything.” 

Sam grinned. “Moral of the story’s clear as water. If you have enough faith in your heart, you can get anything done.”

“Thank you for storytime, Sam,” Fiona flatlined. “You managed to put the baby to sleep.”

He snickered as Michael cut in. “We haven’t decided the right course of action.”

“That’s because there’s only one left,” Sam said. “We’ll have to fly to Columbia and get a copy of Bea’s passport straight from the source.”

“Bogota?” Fiona bristled. “I’m due in two weeks!”

“That’s why you’re gonna stay home and pick out drapes for the nursery with Maddie while Mike and I make sure nobody tries to kill Bea.”

Fiona eyed Beatriz. “Why do you need my boys to help you? Do you have enemies back home?” Sam cringed at her possessiveness, but Beatriz ignored the forward request.

“Half of Bogota,” said Beatriz. “I exposed a smuggling ring. The ambassadors were clients who didn’t want their dirty secrets in the morning paper. Going back means risking a few gunshot wounds.”

“And you knew that, Sam?” Fi wondered. He nodded. “Such a little rebel,” Fiona remarked. “Well, since I can’t fly out you’re going to have to be the point girl. Try to bring them both back in one piece, won’t you?”

Sam cackled. “No offense honey, but this kind of thing was a cakewalk for me and Mike back when we were on the teams.”

“We could do it in our sleep,” Michael said.

“With our hands tied behind our backs.”

“Under two feet of water with our feet sunk into a block of concrete,” Sam said.

Michael shuddered. “Lithuania. I hated that mission.”

“We ended up with six dead informants, what was there to like?” 

Beatriz had gone suddenly quiet, and Sam poked her elbow. “All right?”

“I’m not worried about dying,” she admitted. “I made peace with death when I was a little girl. But I haven’t thought about going back home for years.”

“Bea, I know it’s scary,” Sam said. “But keep that shepherd in mind. If he didn’t trust his gut to lead him back to his hut, he would’ve ended life as a piss-flavored popsicle.” He looked Beatriz right in the eyes. “Trust what your gut says. Because if we don’t do this, we’re gonna have to smuggle you into Paris, and I don’t have enough postage to make you look like an elephant leg table.”

Beatriz frowned. “I trust you both,” she admitted. “Sam saved my life three times, and I’m not going to complain if he wants to do it again.”

“Looks like we’re going to Bogota, Mikey!” 

Automatically, Sam reached for Michael’s hand under the table, communicating his affection quickly, but with total sincerity. 

*** 

“Y’know, Mikey, this city’s a lot easier on the eyes when you’re not hanging off the back of an aircraft carrier.” 

Michael eyeballed Sam as he and Beatriz crammed themselves into their airplane seats at crooked, pain-causing angles. Commercial transport into the country had at least been cheap to score, but only Sam was enjoying himself. Beatriz had ridden this route a thousand times, and Michael was more concerned with getting himself and Sam home in time for the baby’s birth. Sam could understand his friend’s edginess, but the quarter-degree of sanity he maintained reminded him that it would be weeks until Fiona went into labor. 

“I remember that you don’t mind hanging off of things,” Michael declared, his voice dry.

“Remember the plan,” he demanded. “We get in, we get the goods, we get out.”

“And I provide the car,” Beatriz said.

“Which is where we come in,” Sam reminded Michael. “I do the driving, you do the conning, Mike does the distracting. Got it?” He grinned at Beatriz, only to note her faraway expression.

Beatriz continued to stare out the window as the plane descended. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home,” she admitted quietly. It was understandable that she’d easily shed her past to become a photojournalist; she’d learned a hundred languages, gone to different schools, had her own office in a fancy high-rise for years. Now she was going back to the hills and steppes of her home under the pretext of a lie, stomping through the lands of her birth, where she had watched her father herd goats so many years before. 

Sam watched Beatriz as she watched the plane’s wing while they headed in for a landing. He knew very little about those long days ago, and had only learned what he could through grapevines, and what he could pry from her recalcitrant mind and stubborn willfulness – the basic bones of what she’d been through had shown starkly against the landscape of her personality. She gave him a weak smile and squeezed the tip of his index finger as the plane landed.

“Do you have any family you want to visit?” Michael would provide the muscle back into the jungle – while his damsel-saving instincts were less refined than Sam’s, he was fond enough of Beatriz to let the offer stand.

But she shook her head and winced as they skidded to a stop. “All of my father’s family is gone. And my mother isn’t from here.”

Michael glanced at Sam, knowing the tale but putting up an innocent front in front of the girl. “She’s an expat?”

“She was a Mexican girl,” Beatriz explained. “When she was seventeen, she moved to Venezuela to follow my Uncle to the naval base while he served on a submarine. That was where she met my father; they were married, and twelve months later I was born. She died of blood loss.” Bea rubbed her eyes. “My father told her many things about her kindness and her beauty.”

Sam grinned fondly. Her father hadn’t lied too harshly about her point of origin, perhaps out of concern that the Americano who had knocked up her mother might return and demand custody of the child. Beatriz might even forgive them both for deceiving her with such paltry lies. He could nearly picture the fire of Beatriz’ mom, the beauty of her skin and the life in her eyes, reflected in her feisty daughter. 

He didn’t expect to hear the lie that came from her mouth next. “Then my father was shot dead when I was fifteen.” She shouldered her purse and unbuckled her belt. “And now I’m going to stand in the town she walked through twenty years ago. It’s like dancing on her grave.” 

Sam instinctively reached up for her hand, but she’d pulled away and determinedly begun striding up the aisle. The guy they’d paid to fly them out, passports unrequested, didn’t wait for them to move before taxiing further down the airstrip rocking Sam into Michael and Michael into the window.

“Hope the rest of the trip is smoother,” Sam grumbled, rubbing his temple and helping Michael to his feet, the both of them rushing through the busy streets to catch up with Beatriz.

*** 

“Define ‘smoother’,” Michael requested dully. The truck Beatriz had rented sported broken shocks and a spotty motor, which meant in the bumper-to-bumper traffic of Bogota they fit right in. But the tedium and jouncing weren’t Sam’s idea of a picnic.

Beatriz promptly showed him how sorry she was by driving the car over a speed bump. “Where’s the Government Plaza?”

“You don’t know?” Beatriz asked. Her sudden change in mood startled Sam, but he knew it was due to their change in surroundings.

“I spent three seconds here before they shunted me off to the jungle, darlin’,” he said. “This is completely foreign territory for me.” They jumped the curb and they both cursed. “Watch it!”

“I’m trying to keep up with the other drivers, Sam,” she replied. “When in Venezuela, you drive hard.”

“Fine, drive as hard as you wanna. But I don’t wanna end up a pancake.” Sam reached into the front pocket of his fanny pack and said, “I have enough money for a cerveza. Anybody wanna wet their whistle before we go scam some bureaucrats?” 

“Later, Sam,” Michael said firmly. “I wanna have a clear mind for the next forty miles.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Screwing up my head’d be bad for business.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. If Sam wasn’t drinking then he knew the weight of the problem, and needed to keep his game face on. Neither had any clue what they’d be facing when they arrived at the large, white-washed building.

When they found the right door, Beatriz and Michael went inside together, a quick change of clothes providing their cover. Posing as a gringo husband to Beatriz’ cowed wife, they wore matching shirts and khaki pants and radiated wealth and upper-class health. 

Sam listened closely as they wended their way through the departments and lines separating Beatriz from the hope of her freedom. Soon they found the right line, and Michael took over with an obnoxious Boston accent on full blast. They had counted on Michael’s ignorance when it came to the Spanish language to become a boon; Beatriz, a native speaker, needed no help from him.

“Are you finished? Look, we just need the lady’s birth certificate. Can’t get a replacement passport without the birth certificate, can’t get a replacement ID, can’t fly out. If you can’t solve our little problem, let me know who will and I’ll bother them.”

A flurry of Spanish filled the air, with Beatriz’ outraged voice clamoring the loudest. Then the sound of a gavel banging, followed by Michael’s shouts, filled the air. 

“What’s going on, Mike?” Sam hissed into his earpiece.

Silence. 

Then another gunshot. 

Michael’s bellow let Sam know who the victim was, and his heart lurched into his stomach. Police cars screamed further up the street, but Michael beat them outside and carried the limp Beatriz out of the office, her blood trickling down the front of his white shirt. 

“What the hell happened?” Sam barked.

“I think he wanted a bribe,” Michael growled. “She wouldn’t pay out.”

“Bea,” Sam groaned. “When’re you gonna learn to keep your head down?” He drove like a maniac through the teaming streets until they found an overloaded clinic several miles from the center of town. The doctors in charge took one look at Beatriz’ wound and carried her to the back.

Three hours of surgery followed. Sam sat, paralyzed on the floor, rising occasionally to badger passing doctors, while Michael used his spare time to call Fiona.

“…Right mess,” Fiona said into Sam’s ear as Mike held the phone out to him. “Sam, are you okay?”

He nodded – and quickly realized his muteness would communicate nothing. “We’re all fine. Bea’s the one in trouble.”

“Do they have any idea how long the surgery will last?” Fiona wondered.

“No. It was a shoulder wound, but they don’t know how close the bullet went to the artery,” he fell backward against the wall. “This is all my fault – I’m the one who speaks Spanish, it should’ve been me…”He was cut off by Michael’s hand closing gently around his wrist. “She’s such a damn hothead.”

“That’s the Axe charm,” Michael replied. Sam knew from the hangdog look his best friend wore that he blamed himself for what had gone down in there. A hand rested subtly on his thigh, squeezing it gently.

Verbally, his other life partner echoed Michael’s gesture. “No blaming yourself,” Fiona demanded. “Neither of you are allowed to. Both of you know it’s her fault if, God forbid, she dies.”

“Wow. You really don’t like her,” Sam replied.

“She rushes into things without thinking! Which would be fine, if she could defend herself properly. Without weapons training, that little temper of hers was bound to get her killed.”

“I remember a certain little Irish demon that would electrocute any dude who looked at her funny. The same little girl who’s got a debt to the Irish mafia that’ll turn us into shark bait if we go to Dublin.”

“I make powerful enemies,” Fiona agreed, “but I know how to handle them. She’s proven that she doesn’t.”

Sam paused. “You’re right. And now I wanna lock her up to keep her from hurting herself.”

“….Is the dragon in its den?” Old code phrases. Sam immediately switched tactics. 

“No, she’s trying to fly. Fi, you’re right. Back in Florida I had to guard Bea with my life – if she’d my kid she’s gonna be in more danger than before, and I can’t always be around to take care of her. So if she snaps out of this I’m gonna teach her some of the basics. ”

“Well,” Fiona said thickly. “I knew you liked me, Sam, but I didn’t think I had this sort of influence with…”

He saw a white-coated doctor wearing blood-splattered shields on his shoes approach. “Gotta go. We love you.”

“We love you,” Fi replied. Sam hung up on her, something she’d likely rake him over the coals for, but Beatriz was of the utmost import now.

Beatriz’ surgeon approached Sam and Michael, fresh-faced and smiling. “Well?” Sam croaked out.

In rapid Spanish, he said, “She’ll be fine. The bullet barely grazed the artery, but there’s no organ damage and the artery isn’t severed. She’ll be transferred to the nearest hospital once she’s stabilized and kept there for a week.”

“Will she be able to fly?” Sam asked.

“We’ll need to make sure she’s stable enough. If she’s not at risk for an embolism, then her attending will give her the all-clear.”

“Can I see her?” Sam asked.

“Yes. But she’s going to be heavily sedated,” the doctor quickly warned them. “And she’s going to need a transfusion. Do either of you know what blood type…”

“Same as me,” Sam was already rolling up his sleeve. “Let’s do this.”

“Mister Axe,” the surgeon sighed. “We do have blood bank.”

“I just need to help,” Sam said, pulling down his sleeve.

“Are you a relative?”

“I might be.”

The doctor stared at him, and then shook his head. “Tomorrow she should be up and awake – we’ll be transferring her in about twelve hours. I’ll show you to her room.” 

“Thank you,” Michael said. 

“Hey, are you gonna be…” Sam began, only to have his hand squeezed.

“Go be with her,” he said. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee, then I’ll call Fi back.”

“Okay.” Sam leaned into him for a moment before the doctor’s words sank in. “A whole week. Fi’s not gonna be happy,” Sam declared. 

“We’ll deal with her.” 

Sam pulled away from Michael’s touch and let out a chuckle. “Y’don’t deal with Fi, Mikey. You ride her out. Like a hurricane or the flu.”

“I know, Sam,” he shook his head. “Trust me, I know.”

*** 

Fiona slammed shut her phone, and then leaned against Madeline’s surprisingly strong forearm as the halogen lights of the common room turned down. There, among a large cluster of other expectant mothers, she watched the video. It was an old documentary that showed several young hippies giving birth to children using classic Lamaze training, each one surviving the tear-spackled wreck with freshly-born, red-faced, squalling children. 

Fi’s eyebrow kept bobbling up and down as she took in the sight; even Madeline, who had been through the experience twice and sailed through it with few sour memories, stared at the screen with sympathy at the vocal display of agony.

“Is it always that bad?” she asked.

“No,” Maddie observed. “Sometimes they knock you out before they pry the kid out.” Fiona raised an eyebrow.

“I’d always thought it was like a little pinch – that’s what my mam always said. More like being bitten by a lion.” She shoved her fear down with a toss of her hair. “Well,” Fiona said, “I’ve been through worse pain.” 

“Imagine being shot in the side for four hours straight.” Fiona cringed. Madeline simply shrugged. “It’s not pretty, but the end result makes it worthwhile.” 

A red-headed woman with a stunning set of Bo Derek braids shrieked as her child shoved its way out of her body. “Do you forget what it feels like?”

“That’s the only part that’s an old wives’ tale. You remember every little second. Almost every pain.” Then, in a conspiratory whisper, she added, “with Nate, I tore forwards…”

Fiona crossed her legs. “I’m starting to agree with the simple, sensible attitude of my forbearers. A nip of good whiskey ‘til you’re out like a light.”

Madeline shrugged. “If it doesn’t kill you and I get a grandchild I’ll see more than once a month, I’ll sign off on it.”

The lights came back up, and Mary Margaret, the very round and very tired-looking instructress in charge, asked if they had any questions. Naturally, Elizabeth Macnamara had to ask if she was breathing correctly, if her balance was off, and if walking backwards over a crack might hurt the baby.

“Bloody hell,” Fi muttered, “even tipping ass over teakettle wouldn’t hurt that cow’s backside.”

Madeline elbowed her into silence. The class was summarily dismissed, and Madeline had to haul Fiona’s bottom-heavy body to her feet. The usual number of expectants came up to joke with Fiona afterwards, wondering where “Uncle Finley” or her “husband” Michael were – the boys alternated weeks with her, comparing notes when they got home on the off-chance that they weren’t together when Fi went into labor. Madeline had tape recorded the entire class, she explained, and everyone was just delighted to meet Grandma Maddie, whom ‘Mr. Finley’ talked about so often. Maddie grinned and bore it all, until Fi finally agreed that they should get back to the loft. 

“Nice job faking it,” Fi said blithely, walking Maddie over to her Hyundai. 

“I wasn’t faking anything!” Maddie protested. “You should invite those nice Johnsons over for dinner when the baby’s born.”

Maddie was total in her sincerity, which only made Fiona want to laugh harder and louder. “And how shall I explain that Mister Finley and Mister Westen share my life? Imagine my explaining away our king-sized bed and the shower that can take care of three people at once. ‘Why it’s completely normal for a family to share beds in Ireland’!” Fiona shook her head. “The woman’s a priggish blue-nose.”

“But she was normal,” Maddie pointed out. “This child’s going to need something that looks like a boring, nine-to-five family in his or her life.”

Fiona wrinkled her nose. “If she wanted normal, then she picked the wrong family.” She drove aggressively, even in this advanced state of pregnancy, her frustration leaking into her every action. “I liked the Higgens better.”

“Don’t they swap wives?” Fiona shrugged. “Well, that’s a good idea! If you hate one of the girls, she’ll be gone the next month.” 

“That’s not how wife swapping works, Madeline!” She blew through a red light, taking a dramatic left into the loft’s parking lot. 

Maddie’s fingers itched against her pants pocket; she’d been smoke-free for several hours and the lack of nicotine was obviously wearing on her last nerve. “I’ve never fought you over what you do for a living. The boys love you and you love the boys, and that’s always been good enough for me. But the rest of the world doesn’t see it that way. This poor little baby’s going to be picked on…” 

“Maddie, no one’s ever going to pick on this child. I know how to turn bratty children into angels.” Menace underlined her words as Fi sent the Hyundai into a sideways skid, coming to a perfect stop two feet from the staircase and an inch or two before a blue pick-up truck. When Fiona unstrapped herself and slid open the door, she looked over to note that Maddie was white-knuckling against the dashboard. She reached over and gently pried them off. “Come on – I’m ready to get these shoes off.”

Maddie immediately found and lit her cigarette, moving to open up the door. “And I need a nap. A very quiet, very long nap,” she replied. “Did the three of you finish the pizza I brought over before they left?”

“No,” she replied shortly. As they climbed up the fire escape, Fiona regretted her harshness. “I’m sorry, Maddie – I miss them.”

“I know,” Maddie replied quietly. “Come on, you should call them inside where it’s cooler. Maybe Beatriz will be out of surgery and the boys left a message on the house phone.”

Midway up the staircase, the door to the loft burst open, and Fiona automatically reached for the HK strapped to her thigh and shoved Madeline to safety behind her. In the bright sunlight beating down over their heads, she quickly recognized the face of Bobby, the friend-of-a-friend finishing up contract work on their loft. Fi slowly lowered the weapon.

“Bobby, what’s going on?”

He glared over his shoulder and gestured back at the door. “That guy! Don’t do nothing with him!”

“Which guy?” Fiona snapped, her free hand still on Madeline’s shoulder.

“Dark haired, has a little beard thing, claims he knows you guys and won’t shut up about this hot tip he has on the six-ten race down at the Jai Alai place…”

Fiona and Madeline shared long-suffering look. “Thank you, Bob. I’ll be calling you back for those last-minute changes…”

“Hey, as long as that douche is there I ain’t coming back!” he shouted.

“Then send your assistant,” Fiona gritted out. “We’re paying you to finish off that nursery before this baby comes, and it’s coming soon!”

“Just make sure he’s outta the house – the country’d be better, but I’d settle for the house.”

“Well, goodbye to you too!” Maddie snapped. “I don’t know what’s happened to courtesy…” she turned around and quickly noticed that Fiona wasn’t with her.

The former redhead had already waddle-stepped her way to the stoop. When she backed away from the door, Madeline developed an inkling as to what she was about to do. 

“Fiona, Michael would kill me…FI!” Maddie cried out, but Fiona had grabbed a flowerpot from the stoop, hurled it through the window for a distraction, and clicked the front lock open so rapidly Madeline couldn’t form a proper protest.

There was a shriek and a clatter within as Fi peered into the loft. The refrigerator was wide open and swinging, and a jean-clad bottom was barely visible beneath the 

“Nate?” Fiona and Madeline bellowed.

The dark-haired younger Westen spun around, spilling sandwich filling and beer in an attempt at keeping his meal from kissing the floor. “Hi ma…hey….woah, Fi! When are you due?”

“Next week,” she growled. “Damn it, Nate, Michael told you to call your mother if you were coming to see the birth.”

“I did,” Nate protested.

“He did,” Maddie said, as Fiona’s eyes bugged out. “Last night, sweetie,” Maddie said, approaching to help him clean up his mess. “He told me he’d be here Saturday.”

“Sorry about that,” Nate lied. “I got an earlier flight out.” That, at least, seemed to be the truth. Fiona glared at him and he shrunk beneath her anger. “Ruth and Charlie flew to her folk’s place in New Jersey last night, and I had some spare time, so I traded my tickets. So, where’s Mikey?”

“He and Sam are in Venezuela helping Beatriz buy her way to a passport.”

“Slow week?”

“No. And she was shot this afternoon – she’s in surgery right now.” Fiona threw her purse onto the couch and stomped toward the kitchen. “And I’m starving.” She squatted carefully down and started rummaging around in the refrigerator. 

Nate was nothing if not intuitive. He took one look at Fiona’s reaction and instantly feigned remorse. “…I’m sorry. I can leave today, if you need me to…”

“But you just got here,” Madeline worried. She helped him spread his lunch fixings out on the counter and was fussing over his bruises.

Fiona popped up, glaring at him with the malevolence of a thousand cobras. “No, Nate. Michael will be thrilled to see you when he comes home from watching his best friend’s daughter nearly die.”

Nate gave a dry laugh. “You’re right. Mike never wants to see me,” he replied. “Maybe I should…”

“Nate. Sit.” Madeline demanded. 

“Okay, Ma,” he chuckled, barging toward the project table and sitting down between the two flabbergasted women. 

“Fiona, eat,” demanded Maddie.

“All right.” She rolled her eyes as Maddie stood. “What, where are you going?”

“To have a smoke. I’d better see you both in a minute,” she said, and ducked outside.

Nate pointed at the dish of chicken Madeline had made for herself. “Are you gonna finish that?” he asked and nodded toward the abandoned food.

Her good deed for the day, Fiona decided, was not smacking Nate into oblivion.

*** 

The machines attached to Beatriz monitored her breathing, pumped oxygen into her lungs, and injected her with life-giving fluids. Sam knew what each and every machine was for yet he sat and stared at the assemblage in stupefied wonder. How long had he been sitting there in this cordoned-off partition, waiting for her to wake up? Long enough to have four cups of coffee, for them to give Bea a transfusion of blood and and for Michael to leave to make a call to Fi. Long enough.

When Michael came back, he pecked Sam on the head and handed him a wrapped sandwich. Sam pulled the meal open on his lap, cracking a smirk. “Steak. You remembered.”

“I still have buckshot from the last time we were here. Of course I remember.” Michael hunkered down beside Sam. “I called Fi. My brother’s in town.”

“Fi and Nate, alone in the same apartment?” Sam whistled. “Do you have insurance?”

“Mom knows how to handle Nate. Everything’ll be all right,” he insisted. 

Beatriz groaned, stirring against the sheets and Sam flung himself to his feet, grabbing her hand in both of his and crouching to stroke her forehead. “Bea?” Sam called. Then again, and more firmly as she blinked and focused in on his face. “How do you feel?”

She reached for the IV pinning her down and let out an animal cry as she clutched at her shoulder. “Shit,” Sam muttered, pulling the tubes out. “Don’t move.” 

“What happened?” she wondered, looking tinier and more vulnerable than Sam had ever seen her. “Sam, what did I do?”

“Some asshole at the clerk’s office shot you. Do you remember anything before that?”

Beatriz clearly remembered, and Sam watched humiliating flood her features as she cursed a vile streak in Spanish and sank to the mattress. “He needed a ‘favor’ to do me one.”

“Why didn’t you just bribe him?” Sam scolded. 

She glared at him. “My honor…”

“Screw honor.” He pecked her cheek. “This is your life. Nothing will ever be more important than you.” Beatriz said nothing more, too shamefaced to meet Sam’s eyes.

Sam knew that now was the time to let her in. “Bea,” he said quietly, “did your dad ever talk about the guys your mom knew before him?” She raised an eyebrow and glowered at him. “Uh….just for curiosity’s sake?”

“You’re making my head hurt,” she complained. 

“I’ve got my reasons,” he said quietly. “Anyway, did she?” 

Beatriz shook her head. 

Sam stared at his fingers, cupped about her wrist. There was no clean getaway for him so he simply doled out the truth. “A long time ago I knew a pretty girl with big brown eyes and long dark hair. She thought she loved me, and I knew I loved her. We were young and stupid, and we thought we would rule the world. But then my number came up, and my unit had to leave Columbia for Panama. I promised I’d write, and I did, but she never answered my letters. I always wondered what happened to her, but I figured she moved on like every other girl I dated back then. That she was better off without me, too.” She started calmly at his forehead. “I didn’t figure it out until I saw her name on your birth certificate and counted back the months, then I saw your blood type and it matched mine. Bea, I can’t lie to you about this anymore. We’re blood.”

Her laugh was an edgy squawk of boiling hysteria. “Stop lying. You’re lying!”

“Unless your dad was o-positive, I’m not.” She started clawing at the IV tube feeding blood into her system. “Hey, stop!” he grabbed for the tube. “You’re gonna make it worse!”

Her fist shot out from beneath the blanket and connected with Sam’s lip. “I don’t want your blood running through me, or one more favor from you!” She spat on the ground. “You throw dirt on my father’s soul and expect me to be glad!” 

“I deserved that,” he admitted quietly. “I dunno what I expected. I just thought…”

“Don’t think about me Sam,” she snapped. “Go away, or I’ll scream!” 

His eyes locked onto her wounded, hurt ones. How well Sam knew this girl – saw a mirror image of his own injured, fighting, furious soul inside of her. Backing off, he picked up his sweat-stained jacket. There wasn’t anything to say until she came around.

Even though it broke his heart to do it, Sam walked away.

*** 

“Have a tequila?”

His lover stared morosely into the middle distance, forcing Michael to gently stroke the tips of his fingers to gain his attention. Sam gave Michael his best crooked grin. “I don’t feel like drinking.”

Michael winced. “I bought a half a bottle, Sam.”

“You shoulda asked before you slapped down the dinero,” Sam frowned. 

Michaels fingers curled around the tips of Sam’s own, stroking a long scar that lay from the tip of his right thumb and curved inward to his wrist. “Have the gazpacho,” he demanded. “You’ll need something in your stomach when we take off.” 

“I’ll be fine – flown on less.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “How’s Fi?”

“My brother used her good towels to wipe up some melted ice cream and cleaned up most of the glass.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s still got all his limbs?”

“As far as I know.”

“She’ll be happy to see us.”

Michael grinned. “That I know for sure.”

Sam pecked Michael on the lips. “Thanks for coming with us,” he said.

“Anything for you,” Michael said. Suddenly he glared at someone standing just behind his best friend’s shoulder. “’Scuse me for a second.”

Sam was on his feet and moving toward a table two moments after Michael reached a laughing man swilling booze under the sunlight. 

Michael knocked the guy out with one punch and left him lying in a pool of tequila.

“That’s what happens to assholes that shoot innocent kids,” Michael growled. He planted one last kick to the guy’s temple before Sam peeled him away and vacated the trocadero before they were escorted away. “That was for the man I love.”

*** 

The flight home was longer than either had anticipated. After eight hours they were both wound tight, nearly dragging their feet as they entered the terminal of the tiny airport. Only when Fiona entered the picture, walking toward them with her head held high and her smile wide, her belly somehow rounder than it had been two weeks ago, did Sam and Michael break into simultaneous grins. 

She wrapped herself around Michael like a mink stole before letting go and reaching for Sam. They met with a long, wet kiss; Sam released her when she suddenly gasped into his mouth.

“What?” he complained, glancing with worry down at her belly.

“Little brat punched my lung,” Fiona complained. 

“That’s supposed to happen, right?” Sam laughed nervously. 

“We can be at the hospital in two minutes…” Michael began.

“Good. But I’m not in labor.” Michael seemed confused, but Sam’s mental rolodex immediately pinged. 

“Your doctor’s appointment.” 

She reached for Sam’s hand and smirked. “Ready and waiting for you, Mister Finley.” 

“Guess it’s just good luck that we weren’t stuck with Beatriz,” Sam muttered.

“I take it you didn’t patch things up before you left.” 

Sam pointed toward the large grey-purple bruise staining his hairline. “Look like it?” he shook his head. “The kid punches like kangaroo.” 

Fi took his head between her hands and drew him down for another kiss. “Poor Sammy,” she teased. “A little girl beat you up.”

“Still standing, baby,” he declared. 

“Guys,” Michael complained lightly. “We’ve got an appointment to make.” The silent, Westenian disapproval rolled off the words like fog off a warm ocean. 

“When you grow up your heart dies, Mikey,” Sam said, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders. Michael gave him a confused frown as they made for the front door. “Don’t you remember The Breakfast Club?”

“No,” Michael said. “My mother wouldn’t let me see it.”

“She couldn’t handle you seeing Molly’s bodacious tatas,” Sam declared, cringing as Fi’s nails dug into his forearm. He whined as they reached the car. “Geez. I’m in love with a coupla critics.”

“It keeps you in line,” Michael declared, caressing the Charger’s hood as he reached to open the door. Sam grinned and slid his shades up his nose. It was beyond terrific to be home again. 

***  
Sam had adapted fairly well to being Charles Finley, husband of Charlotte, foot rub giver and teller of mood swing jokes. The nurses all flirted gently with him while they took Fiona’s blood pressure, and he remembered their names, asked after their significant others, and inquired after their health. He must have been particularly obvious this week; Fiona elbowed him in the kidney.

“It’s just the cover,” he insisted. “I’ve gotta maintain the right poise.”

“Poise, my arse,” she replied. “You’re just a terrible tease.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, baby.” He kissed the top of her head. “It wasn’t last week.”

“Don’t remind me it’s been that long since I’ve….DOCTOR PRESTON,” Fiona smiled, her voice slamming into first gear. “How are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that question,” she eyed Fiona’s stomach. “No signs of labor?”

“None,” Fiona frowned at her stomach. “He’s just as active as ever so I haven’t been worr…ied…” the hand on her belly tapped against her skin. “Off my lungs,” she requested.

Sam chuckled. “Aww, sweetie, y’know he won’t listen to you…” he crouched down until he was belly-level with Fiona. “Hey, kiddo – quit bugging your mom.”

The baby gave him a swift kick to the nose.

“Mister Finley?” Doctor Preston’s laughter cut through Sam’s bemusement. “I need to take an ultrasound now.”

Sam shifted out of the way, taking a by-now customary position beside Fiona’s head. With the lights dimmed, he slipped his fingers casually into hers, and then casually placed his other hand in the pocket of his jeans, twisting the dial of the two-way radio he’d concealed there so Michael could hear everything out in the parking lot. 

The baby on the tiny black screen was more clearly definable as such now. He could make out the tiny heart pumping away, and the legs kicking vigorously against Fiona’s insides. Sam couldn’t admit it out loud, but the sight of the baby living so vigorously gave Sam’s insides a funny little jolt; involuntarily, he smiled. The baby looked so tiny, but it already had spirit, was already wanted in the world. The power of it all made his breath hitch slightly, made him think again of Beatriz, the hours he’d missed, the stories unread and the games unplayed. Then the baby gave a quick turn and mooned them all just as Doctor Preston remarked on the development of its lungs. Sam cackled. For every morose thought he had, a happy and fresh one seemed to bloom up beside it.

“Is everything all right?” Fiona asked.

“Perfect. He or she’s ready to be born,” Doctor Preston declared. “In fact, judging by the development of those lungs, he or she might be a little bit overdue.” She switched on the lights and wiped her transponder clean. “If you don’t go into labor in the next twenty-four hours, call me and I’ll schedule your induction.”

“An induction?” Fiona worried. “My due date was last Friday, and I thought I had more time…”

“Sorry, Missus Finley.” She had the grace to look sympathetic as she gave Fiona a paper towel to wipe herself with. “The time has come.”

“Heh. I Love Lucy.” Fiona raised an eyebrow as she resituated her clothing. “Oh come on. I’m not that old!”

*** 

Michael was waiting for them in the parking lot, and he didn’t even have to ask before he noticed Fiona’s grumpy expression. “Bad news?”

“They’re inducing me if I don’t go into labor by tomorrow.” Fiona yanked her purse strap up her arm, then yanked the Charger’s door wide and threw herself into the passenger side seat.

“…Is that a bad thing?” Michael asked Sam, his face stoic.

Sam winced. “I’m outta my element on this one. D’you think the whole induction thing’s some kinda ego trip? Like if she doesn’t do it the ‘right’ way, it doesn’t count?” Fiona’s fist shot through the open window and caught Sam in the ribs. “Guess that’s a no,” he choked out, rubbing his sore flesh. After Michael finished unlocking the Charger Sam handed him a copy of Fiona’s final ultrasound – and in trade Michael handed Sam back his phone. “Bad news – she blocked your number.”

“Damn it,” Sam frowned, joining Michael in the car. 

“The only thing you can do right now is give her space,” Michael said. “If she wants to be in your life she’ll come back. If she doesn’t, you gave your all.”

Sam’s smile was thin but genuine. “I knew I picked the right guy.”

“Is that why you flirt with every nurse in that OBGYN office?”

“Hey, I’ve only got eyes for you…and for Fi,” he frowned. “Never thought I’d hear myself say that out loud.”

“I,” Fiona declared flatly, “am the best choice you’ve ever made. Drive, Michael.”

And Michael obeyed her immediately.

*** 

The loft was in total chaos when they returned. Painters were in retreat, and the floor was covered in sawdust. Michael’s voice took on that instantaneously frightening pitch that would send most mortals running for the hills.

His little brother just shrugged and laughed. “I’ll be by this afternoon to help you clean up, bro.” He pointed over his shoulder, at the new soundproofed room that had been created for the baby. “Go ahead, tell me what you think.”

Fiona ‘escorted’ Nate outside while Sam and Michael entered the nursery. Both men paused in stunned silence, shocked to see that the interior was now a beautiful shade of yellow. The furniture Fiona had selected had been set up and polished, stuffed animals and music boxes lining the changing table and chest of drawers. Over the crib swung a tiny mobile made of stuffed ducks. 

“Mike,” Sam remarked, “I think Nate missed his calling.”

“You could always ask one of your buddies if he needs an interior designer,” Michael said, resting his hand against the top rail of the crib.

It collapsed in a heap at their feet. 

Retreating to their bed, Michael and Sam barely stirred when Fiona slammed the front door closed. They didn’t notice she had stripped herself bare until she stood before them in her heels, hand tucked onto her hips. “Which one of you wants me?”

Sam sat still and blinked at her in exhaustion. “Fi, what are you doing?” Michael asked.

“There’s a few ways to jump start labor,” Fiona said, stripping out her earrings. “You can eat chili peppers, or take long walks. Or,” she flopped onto the bed between them. “You can have sex.”

Sam and Michael locked eyes. “No thanks,” the said simultaneously.

“Are you boys really turning me down?” Fiona pouted. She slid each of her hands up each of their thighs. 

“We’re having a tough day,” Sam said, his breath hitching. 

“I don’t have a crib anymore,” Michael frowned into his fist.

“I never had a daughter,” Sam retorted.

“What a shame,” she said. “Wouldn’t you both rather have a beautiful, available woman who adores you and has some tension she’d like to relieve?”

“Can she fix a busted v-nut?” Sam wondered.

Fiona grabbed Sam by the ears and dragged him into a kiss, her right hand encircling Michael’s dick. 

*** 

“Well,” Sam grinned an hour later, his head against the backboard and Fiona’s hair fanned out across his chest, “my mind’s blank.”

“A complete wash,” agreed Michael, grinning stupidly against the inside of her thigh.

“Completely,” Fiona hummed. She kissed Sam’s chest and petted Michael’s shoulder. “Thank you, boys,” she said, levering herself up into a sitting position and shifting Michael’s head into her lap. She played with his hair. “But I don’t think it worked.”

“Can’t say we didn’t try our best,” Sam said, glancing down at his limp cock. 

“And I’m grateful,” she declared. “Completely grateful.” With a yawn, she bent and kissed Michael’s forehead. “But still pregnant.” 

Sam was ready with another vaguely filthy suggestion when the door suddenly rolled open, and Nate Westen was promptly greeted by the sight of three guns trained straight at his head.

“Woah!” he cried, holding out both hands. Then he realized Mike and Fi were both naked. And that was SAM next to them in the bed and HE was naked. _”WOAH!”_ he reiterated, hiding his eyes. 

“Shut up,” Fi snapped, finding her dress on the floor and tugging it on. “I thought I locked that door!”

“I picked it. Mikey, I knew you and Fi…but SAM….BRO!” he exclaimed dumbly.

Michael rolled his eyes. “Ma didn’t let you know?”

“Ma never told me anything, I swear, just that you and Fi were together now and you were having a kid now that you were officially back with the agency...now.” He eyebrowed at Sam. “How long’s this been going on?”

“Too long,” Sam replied. 

“Nate, I’m bi,” Michael said.

“I knew that,” he shrugged. Michael glared at him. “Everyone back home knew! And you made it with one of the Stiglione brothers during that sting…”

“…You did it with one of the Stiglione brothers?” Sam frowned.

“It was a high-pressure situation,” Michael replied stiffly, pulling on his boxer shorts. “Why are you here?”

“To help you clean up,” he replied. “Toldja I’d be back. Oh! Fi, could you do me a solid and go pick up my suitcase from Miami international?”

“What?” Fiona blurted.

“I tagged my luggage for delivery to your loft,” he said, “but they won’t give it to me until you sign for it. I made the mistake of putting it in your name…”

“…Don’t say anything else…” She gently pushed Michael away and finished dressing herself. “I’ll be right back…And by the time I am, you’d better be gone!” she said, shoving her index finger into Nate’s face.

“Got it,” he replied. He even got to work scraping up the sawdust staining the floor.

“Seriously, Mike, the Stigliones?” Sam asked as Fiona retreated. “Please tell me it wasn’t Jose…”

*** 

Fiona heaved out a sigh of relief as the customs agent produced Nate’s leather suitcase. The sole advantage to her somewhat ungainly size was that people tended to go to great lengths for her. 

“I can carry this to your car,” the agent offered, wheeling the suitcases in front of his service desk.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “But I can handle it myself.” It was as short walk from the car to the door of his office, and she wanted the space and peace of loneliness, even with the slight ache she’d developed in her lower back. The last thing she wanted was induction – turning the birthing process into an invasive nightmare. She preferred to go through the entirety of it as safely and with as much grace as she could manage. 

The main elevator was jammed – all the way on the fourth level. It would be quicker to take the completely unoccupied service elevator and walk her way to the parking lot. One level up, the machine screeched to a halt, the door wrenching open.

She wasn’t in any mood to be kidnapped with the ache narrowing from her back to her hip. Her black-masked enemy let out a cry of surprise before tumbling into the elevator with her. The doors slammed shut. The elevator began chiming alarmingly.

Cursing, the woman pulled back her hood.

Fiona squinted down at her. “Beatriz.”

Beatriz pulled back and away, against the furthest wall of the elevator. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “If Sam sent you, I don’t want his help!”

“Sam knows nothing about this. And that’s nowhere near good enough an explanation, girly. Why are you dressed like a cat burgler?” Fiona demanded.

“I broke into the offices upstairs to write myself a new passport.” Fiona groaned. “Nothing Sam or Barry did for me helped! It would look better if I was an Americano, so…” She pulled a carefully-printed passport from the back of her pants and showed it to Fiona. 

“Sam would be proud,” she flatlined, rubbing her lower back. “Get on the emergency phone, tell them we’re trapped down here.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Beatriz asked as she picked up the red phone. “You don’t look good.”

“It’s this cramp,” Fiona complained. “It’s been….” She glanced downward, feeling a slow trickle of liquid drip down her inner thigh. “Oh, damn it….”

“What’s….don’t…are you in labor?” Beatriz gaped. “The phone is dead, and you’re in labor!”

“The way you state the obvious…you remind me…so much of Sam,” she replied sarcastically, kneading the small of her back. “My cell phone’s in my pocket. I need something to hold onto while I open it…”

“How can you get a signal?” Beatriz worried. 

“Shut up and hold my head,” Fiona demanded. Beatriz reached to hold Fi still - sweat beaded upon her brow, but she jerkily reached into her front pocket and pried open the back of her phone. “Give me the stick of gum I’ve got floating around on the bottom. I need the tinfoil,” she demanded. A quick application of it to the tip of the exposed battery…

“Fi?” Michael asked. “What happened?”

“I’m trapped in a service elevator. In labor,” she said flatly. “Get here, NOW!” she demanded, before hanging up the phone and groaning as the first contraction rushed through her.

“What should I do?” Beatriz worried.

“Just sit still and hold my hand,” Fiona demanded. “It isn’t so bad,” she added. “Not as bad as being shot in the arm during a wine festival in Coral Gables.”

“Who got the bullet out?” Beatriz wondered idly. 

“Sam.” Fiona smiled. “With the tip of a swiss army knife nail file. You should be easier on him, Beatriz.” She contracted, breathed deeply, and continued calmly. “That’s the first and only time I’ll ever suggest anyone should be easier on Sam. But you should be, because he doesn’t want to trample on your other father’s memory. He only wants to be part of your life now that he knows you’re his.”

“What good can I do for him?” asked Beatriz. “I’m grown up now.”

“I’m…” she gasped. “Grown up, too. But my mam and my dad still need me…I still sneak messages to them over the border. I love them.” Fiona turned her eyes toward the watch and started timing each contraction. “You don’t need to love him back, but he doesn’t want to hurt you, Beatriz. I know Sam better than that.”

Beatriz just held onto Fiona’s hand, carefully timing the contractions herself. When they were ten minutes apart, the familiar whine of an accelerant torch sounded over their heads. In the space of three contractions, Sam’s head peeping through the hole he’d just made.

“Hello, ladies. The cavalry has arrived.”

Using a hose stolen from a nearby firebox, the two men rappelled down toward them with such ludicrous ease that Beatriz could only gape in surprise. Fiona was beyond noticing the girl, barely took note of the hysteria in Michael’s expression or the sound of Sam calling in their emergency and asking her doctor to meet them at the hospital. Her world had shrunken inward, and it stayed that was as they broke land-speed records on their way to the hospital.

The nurses took one look at ‘Mrs. Finley’ and admitted her. Before Fiona could count the hours, she had Sam beside her squeezing her hand as the contractions blurred together into a single, hellish pain. She saw Michael in the doorway, posing as a scrub nurse, two seconds before she shoved eight-pound, nine ounce Samuel Liam Westen into the world.

***  
The three of them would fill the boy’s baby book with the rest of the details; volumes filled with his smiling parents – all three of them, huddled together with tired eyes and proud expressions, hands unfolded against his tiny, vulnerable back. 

“He’s beautiful, Fi,” Sam declared, holding the baby in his arms while his mother ate like the starved wolf. 

“Like his mother,” Michael said, handing over brown-wrapped package. “For you,” he said.

“Diamonds? And so quickly,” Fi kidded, wiping her mouth and fingertips before accepting Michael’s kiss. The package was wrapped in layers of brown paper, and she quickly peeled them back to reveal a snowglobe. “Oh Michael.” Within the alcohol-filled glass, a plaster baby lay in a cradle among falling plastic petals.

“Swank, Mikey.” Sam’s nose wrinkled as he held out Liam. “I think he needs a change.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Michael replied, only to have the infant begin wailing as Michael wrapped his arms around the child. “How do I make it stop?” he asked.

“Change the nappies,” Fiona rolled her eyes, “then give him a nice burp. Little bugger’s been sucking me dry all morning.”

“Good thing he’s cute. I’m gonna miss sucking on those sweet things my…”

“Sam!”

A knock sounded at the door, but by the time it registered over the din the interloper was gone. Sam found a card with a lamb on the cover, signed in kindness from Beatriz, but nothing else.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, trying to keep the baby from spitting up on his shirt.

“You’re right, Mike,” Sam said. “I can’t make her feel something she doesn’t want to. She’ll come when she wants to.” He grinned, tickled the baby’s bare tummy with his fingers before swaddling him. “Right now we’ve got this little guy to take care of.” 

Liam let out a squeaky cry, his lips puckering and releasing. Carefully, Sam carried the baby back to Fiona. “You’re not the only one who’s hungry,” he informed her.

*** 

At four days old, Liam Westen was already a master in getting his own way. Screaming in the arms of Jesse Porter, he looked like an enraged howler monkey.

“How do you make him stop?”

Sam – who hovered perpetually nearby like a nanny from a Disney film – immediately reached out for little Liam and very gently picked him up. A light pat to the back released a fountain of milk, and Sam winced as the sour-sweet but familiar smell. At least Liam's cries were silenced.

“Whatt’d you think?” Sam asked Jesse. “Isn’t he perfect?”

Jesse laughed. “He’s cute. But as soon as I get back from my date with Pearce, I’m getting a vasectomy.”

“You and Pearce?” Sam raised an eyebrow when Jesse nodded. “Mike’s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

“Why is why I’m not gonna tell him.” He sarcastically waved at the baby. “Night, Liam.” Then, to Sam, “Tell Fi I hope her check-up turns out okay.”

“Will do.” Sam settled down into the nursery, rocking his little namesake back into a contented sleep. He wasn’t used to the snorkeling and murmuring cries of an infant, but Liam’s presence had the power to change the direction of this thoughts, sharpen the beat of his heart, shape-shift him into a responsible human being with one whimper.

There was a knock at the door, a scattering of steps, and he answered with his gun drawn, baby holstered up against his chest like an amulet of protection. Sam pulled open the door to see nothing more than a stuffed llama sitting on the steps.

He grinned, knowing the signal. “Come on out, Bea.”

Her dark head peeped up under the streetlamp, and Sam grinned. “Thanks.” He lifted up Liam and spoke at a higher pitch. “Thank you!”

She smiled. “Is Fiona all right?”

“Everybody’s fine.” He hung back, watching her approaching, thinking that’d she’d missed the baby’s christening, that she looked wonderful, that whatever backwater French berg she’d run to after finally getting out of the country had treated her right. “It’s just really nice to see you again.” 

Beatriz grinned at him. “I don’t know if I can call you daddy...”

Sam held up a palm. “You don’t have to. I just wanted you to know I’m there for you.”

She shrugged. “I need to know if you want to take a test.”

“I had a test done last month, before you left.” She frowned at him. “You left some hair on a brush in my bathroom,” Sam lied as she looked offended. “Wages of having an ex-mercenary as a dad, kid. I know how to find everything you don’t want me to see.”

A thin smile. “Except for me.” He cringed. “The results?”

“Came today. They’re inside. Nate finally went back to Vegas to be with his kid – we’ve been enjoying the quiet…”

He opened the door and let her into the living room before putting little Liam into his cradle. On the table nearest the door sat a sealed manila envelope, which Sam opened immediately. Beatriz leaned awkwardly against the wall, waiting in silence. 

Sam paused with the envelope clenched in his fist. “This,” he said, “only changes one thing. It just adds another knot to the tie that binds you to me. I won’t like you any less if you aren’t my kid.” 

“I know,” Beatriz said. “I already had a father, Sam – having two in one life is a stroke of brilliant luck.”

“Swear you won’t…”

“Shut up and open it,” she laughed.

Sam saw in his mind’s eye the little girl dressed up like a soldier, spitting invective at him as she stamped her way into his heart. He saw the woman in fancy clothes hunched on the floor beside him in a hail of bullets. He saw the fragile bird in the hospital bed, and he saw the spitfire who had found a way beyond his ineptness into the world she had yearned to be. 

Sam unfolded each crisp page carefully. The results were ninety-nine percent accurate.

He threw them aside and held out his open palm. “Welcome to the family, kid.” 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> This work of fanfiction uses characters from _Burn Notice,_ which is the property of USA/NCB-Universal/Flying Glass of Milk/Matt Nix. Infringement for monetary gain has not occurred, and this is a work of fanfiction intended for nonprofit use only.


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